


pretty lights on the tree, I'm watching them shine, you should be here with me

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 23:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: ..please, come home.[ in which Stiles nearly misses Christmas because of a case. ]





	pretty lights on the tree, I'm watching them shine, you should be here with me

The quiet sound of small, careful footsteps alerted her, and she placed down the book she was reading next to the glass of red wine on top of the coffee table. Soft candlelight and dancing flames reflected on her skin, and a smile spread across her features when her son finally entered the living room and stood before the tree and its colourful, flickering lights. His amber coloured eyes shifted to the window next to the Christmas tree, and he looked out into the clear, black night, blinking slowly before taking in the snow bathed in the bright light of the moon and twinkling stars.

“It’s snowing again.” The four-year old said, rather disappointedly before heading towards the sofa and climbing onto it next to his mother.

“You love snow, baby.”

“I just miss daddy.”

“I know, sweetie.” Her lips parted slightly, and a long, low sigh escaped through them. It was Christmas Eve, and although Stiles had promised to do everything he could to be there for them on that very day, things didn’t seem to be working out in their favour. “I miss him too.”

“When is he coming back?”

“Soon.”

“Soon now, or soon in, like, a week?”

“Luke,” A laugh escaped her lips even though she attempted to hold it back, and then she wrapped one of her arms around his small frame, pulling him into her side and kissing the top of his head before whispering into soft, tousled blonde curls. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take, but he will be here _very_ soon. It’s daddy, right? He will never disappoint us.”

“I just didn’t want him to miss Christmas.”

“I know.” Her grip tightened slightly around him, and he clung onto his mother’s arm for dear life. “Daddy didn’t want to miss Christmas either.”

As she grabbed the blanket that was curled around her legs, and pulled it over both their bodies, he settled more into her side while snuggling deeper in the warmth that suddenly surrounded him. Then, whilst he didn’t see it, she took her phone and unlocked it silently, only sneaking a few glances down at her kid occasionally, as she scrolled down her list of contacts to find her husband’s number. Upon seeing _your batman_ flashing across her screen all of a sudden, she rolled her eyes at the name and the reason why she was having trouble finding his number, rejecting his call afterwards before editing the name to ‘ _Santa_ ’ instead.

“Hey, I have an idea of what could make you feel better.”

“Hot chocolate?”

“Later,” She said with a chuckle, waving her phone in front of him afterwards before continuing. “…there’s someone you could talk to that, maybe, would make you feel better.”

“Who?”

She placed the phone in his tinier hands, and let him eye the contact information, knowing that he’d recognise ‘ _Santa_ ’ on the screen after the many, many letters he forced his mother to write for the imaginary old, cheery man.

“S-Santa?” He said quietly, almost frighteningly as if his mother would retract her offer suddenly. “But you said we can only talk to Santa three times a year, and I’ve already sent him two letters and seen him at the mall.”

“Yeah, well, I have only spoken to him once, so I’m giving you one of mine.”

“For real?”

“Yeah.” She agreed with a nod, swiping then across the screen to make the call before helping him bringing the phone up to one of his ears and holding it there.

It rang twice, before a hoarse, but full of excitement ‘hey’ came from the other side of the line.

“Santa?”

Stiles’ brows furrowed for a second in confusion, before it hit him – it was, perhaps, one of his wife’s brilliant ideas to make their son feel better, and just as quick, a smile blossomed on his face.

“Santa? You there?” His son repeated, calling out for him ( _well, Santa_ ) once more and he cleared his throat, deepening it slightly so he could disguise it.

“Hello, Lucas.”

“Is it really you?”

“Well, who else would I be?” His lips quirked up in a slightly wider, happier smile at the squeal he heard from the other side of the line, allowing him to slip in the house through the kitchen door without his wife or son noticing him. “How is your night going so far?”

“Not so good.”

“Really?” He lowered his tone not to draw anyone’s attention and ruin his plan. “I do remember leaving a lot of gifts for you and your family, earlier than usual, which is something I never do for just anybody, my dear boy.”

“I know.” A loud, and too heavy sigh for such a small person was heard from the other side, and Stiles peeked out into the living room to see his two favourite people in the world cuddling on the couch, padding back into the kitchen afterwards.

“What’s the matter, kiddo?”

“Daddy isn’t here to see all the presents you left.”

“Well, that’s not okay.” He continued while taking three mugs out of the kitchen cabinets and placing them down on the counter, then preparing and gathering everything to make hot chocolate as quietly as possible. “But I’m sure he’d love to be there, with you.”

“Can’t you bring him here, Santa? He misses us and he’s out there alone and cold.”

He was halfway through adding another spoon of cocoa powder in one of the mugs when those words reached his ears, and an immediate smile spread across his face. How lucky was he to call such a beautiful, kind boy his son? It still shocked him that he had made such pure, wonderful thing – then again, he didn’t do it alone, which was probably the reason why Lucas was so unbelievably perfect.

“Is that what you want, young man?”

“Yes, please.”

“Then that’s what I’m going to do, Lucas.”

As soon as those words slid past his lips, he ended the call and finished the rest of the hot chocolates, while listening to his son blabbering on the other room, probably telling his mother everything about his conversation with Santa Claus.

“- and then I asked him to bring daddy home, because he was alone and cold and that’s not fair, and he said that if that’s what I wanted that he would do it.”

He chose to enter the living room in that exact moment, smiling in his wife’s direction who turned to glance at him with one of her best cheeky smiles, clearly having heard him and noticed his presence already but chose not to say anything so it wouldn’t ruin their son’s surprise.

“Really? So, he’s bringing daddy home, on top of all those presents? Well, aren’t we just lucky?”

“Not lucky, mama, we’re good people. I was a good boy, you were a good mama, and daddy was good too.” Stiles walked behind the couch, handing one of the steamy mugs of hot chocolate to the strawberry blonde, before carefully lowering one of the other two so their kid could grasp it instantly as well. “Thanks, daddy.”

“Sure, kid.”

It took him about three seconds to realise that he was _there_ , just like Santa promised, which led him to squeal a little too loud, and jump a little too high on the couch, causing his mother to let out a scream and immediately lunge forward for the mug of the hot liquid before someone got severely hurt.

Just as fast, he turned to face the male who was still standing behind the couch, the one person he had been wishing to see and even asked Santa for, and before Stiles could register anything, his son was jumping over the back of the couch and into his arms, trusting him to catch him even while holding his own mug of a hot drink.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, bud.” His arms wrapped around Lucas’ small frame after Lydia took his mug as well, and he pulled him tighter into his embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of blonde curls. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Guess what?”

“What?” He pulled back to look at his dad, clutching onto the collar of his dad’s black button down and finally, fully took him in, noticing the snow stuck in his dark, tousled hair, flushed cheeks and wide smile. _His favourite things._

“I just had the craziest ride on a sleigh. _Best one ever_.”

“It was your first, how do you know it was the best?”

“Because it just was.” He shrugged, laughing when his child frowned, clearly not enjoying that as an explanation. “Because, apparently, I got to ride Santa’s sleigh because my handsome young man asked him to. So, thank you.”

“I just wanted you to come home.”

His head bowed slightly into his father’s chest as his small fingers played with the buttons of his shirt, and the agent’s lips curved in the softest of smiles as he rounded the couch and plopped down onto the cushions next to Lydia, unclipping his badge and gun, and placing them on top of the coffee table with the reminder of locking safely them later to prevent any mistakes and/or accidents.

“I wanted to come home too, Luke.” He whispered, running his long fingers through blonde locks. “So, thank you for bringing me home, son.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the strawberry blonde smiling, happy that he was back, no longer in danger, and with them – where he should have been all along. But mostly, he could sense her happiness at the way he interacted with their child, and let him live that fantasy a little longer.

Lucas was smart, however, and so he highly doubted that it’d take him long to understand that Santa didn’t actually exist. For the moment, he was content with lying, as long as he kept a smile on that beautiful, young face. So innocent. _So precious_.

“And I brought you something.”

“ _What_?” No longer happy with being buried in his embrace, Luke sat upright and waited patiently for what was to come, remembering all those times when his grandfather repeatedly told him that patience was a virtue. _Whatever that meant_ , he could be patient. But eagerness was still written all over his features, which caused his father to chuckle silently before reaching up for something he kept in the pocket of his shirt.

As soon as he pulled it out and placed it in his child’s hands, he watched as his entire face lit up, as if what he had given to him was the best present in the world when there were plenty, _frankly far too much_ , under the tree. Things that actually had use for a kid of his age.

“It’s your badge!”

“It’s a replica.”

“Stiles -” Lydia mumbled softly, and since he couldn’t exactly make out her tone at the moment, too busy with the excitement that flashed across their son’s face, he placed one of his hands on her thigh instead, squeezing in what he hoped was a comforting touch.

“…so next time I can’t come right away, right when you wish it, you’ll have something to hold onto.”

“Thanks, daddy.” Luke nodded, his eyes flickering to the rest of his presents. “But can I open those now?”

“Sure.” He muttered, helping him hop off his lap before gazing at his wife with a confused expression, causing her to laugh.

“Baby, he’s four. He appreciates it, he loves that you’re basically a superhero, but he couldn’t care less about the emotional value of something like that.”

“That actually hurts my feelings.”

“You did a good thing,” She continued, with no traces of laughter this time, as she leaned into him and pecked his lips tenderly. “…you let him continue to live this crazy fantasy, and you brought him something that means the world to you and, perhaps, someday, will mean the world to him too. You’re a good man, Stiles Stilinski.”

“I nearly missed Christmas.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t disappoint us.”

“I try not to.”

“I know, babe.” She snuggled into his chest, and pulled his arm around her protectively. “…but you should probably snap out of this deep, emotional moment, because he’s about to open one of your father’s presents, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be -”

“Another water gun?!” An enthusiastic scream echoed off the walls.

“Oh, come on!” He groaned, tossing his head onto the back of the couch. “It’s a rifle!”

“Well, you did get him a badge.”

A louder, more pained groan escaped his lips. “It’s like he does this on purpose! And it’s not even that cool. My badge was way cooler.”

“Sure, you boys and your toys.” She deadpanned, getting up to start cleaning the mess their kid was creating before it got way worse.

“It’s not a toy, Lydia -”

“It seems to be made of plastic -”

“It’s a serious thing -”

“It’s a replica, Stiles.”

“My life actually depends on it -”

“Maybe not your actual life -”

“It’s not a toy!”

“If you say so.”


End file.
